


practice makes perfect (yes i can prove it)

by lavenderlore



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat/Open, M/M, Miles is Sixteen, Practice Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 14:18:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18012500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderlore/pseuds/lavenderlore
Summary: Peter doesn’t respond at first. Instead, he studies Miles’s face with an intensity that makes Miles’s cheeks burn. “Why me?” He finally asks.“What?”“I mean, why not ask someone else?” Peter scrubs a hand over his jaw. “Why not… Gwen! What about Gwen? You could—?”“I can’t ask Gwen!” Miles cuts across. “She’s a girl! That would beweird.”-Miles asks Peter to teach him to kiss. (Miles is sixteen.)





	practice makes perfect (yes i can prove it)

**Author's Note:**

> before you decide to comment hate on this fic, please keep in mind that this is a fictional scenario about fictional characters. not that you need to know, but it was very cathartic for me to write. i wouldn't condone something like this in real life. dead dove: do not eat. yada yada yada.
> 
> thank you to my future spouse for beta'ing.

“I’m sorry, what?” 

Peter stares. Miles swallows and tries not to sway where he stands. All the courage he’d built up to ask Peter the first time drained from his body the second the words left his mouth, and now he has to say it _again_. He drops his bag on the ground and takes a seat on the edge of the coffee table, knees practically knocking against Peter’s where he’s lounging on the couch.

“I _said_ ,” Miles starts, puts enough emphasis and attitude on the second word to earn an eye roll from his mentor. “I want you to— teach me to kiss.”

Peter is looking at him like he’s spoken a different language; his eyebrows are furrowed and his mouth is slightly parted in a way that makes him look so confused it’s almost laughable. He makes a couple of noises in the back of his throat, things that could be words but die before they reach his tongue. 

Finally, he narrows his eyes and pins Miles with a glare. “You’re messing with me.” He shakes his head and continues with the same unamused tone, “Hilarious.”

“I’m not!” Panic rises in Miles’s throat, and he tries to swallow it down. “I’m not, I just— sorry, it was a stupid idea.” He looks at the ground and nudges a long-ago-discarded beer bottle with his foot. “Forget I said anything, okay?”

He’s trying his hardest not to sound like a dejected little kid, but that’s kind of how he feels. It had taken him days, _weeks_ to ask, and it was all for nothing. All he’s done is humiliated himself and probably-definitely exposed the crush on Peter that he’s never been able to will away.

“Miles,” Peter says softly. Miles can’t look up; he can’t bear to see the pity in Peter’s eyes. “Look at me, _talk_ to me. Where is this coming from?”

When Miles finally manages to meet his gaze again, Peter’s expression is open and curious. There’s no trace of judgement anywhere on the older man’s face.

“There’s this, umm, girl in one of my classes,” Miles says, already lying. He doesn’t tell Peter it’s a guy— Peter might think it’s weird if it’s a guy, might think that Miles asking for his help means that Miles is… coming onto him, or something. And he’s not. Not technically, anyway. “I kind of want to ask her out, but. I don’t really have much experience.” _Any experience, actually,_ he doesn’t say.

Peter doesn’t respond at first. Instead, he studies Miles’s face with an intensity that makes Miles’s cheeks burn. “Why me?” He finally asks.

“What?”

“I mean, why not ask someone else?” Peter scrubs a hand over his jaw. “Why not… Gwen! What about Gwen? You could—?”

“I can’t ask Gwen!” Miles cuts across. “She’s a girl! That would be _weird_.”

Peter laughs dryly. “And asking me isn’t weird?” He looks tired, more than he does normally. More than he did when Miles arrived at his apartment less than fifteen minutes ago.

Miles tries not to pout. “No,” he says. “I mean! You’re my mentor, right? You’ve taught me, like, everything. So, I figured…” He shrugs and kicks the beer bottle on the floor again, harder this time. The soft _clink_ seems to echo through the apartment.

“Miles…”  
  
“I’ve never even been _kissed_ before,” Miles mutters. “What if I totally screw it up? What if she laughs at me? God, what if— what if I panic and stick to her? What if—?”

“Miles.” Peter’s hand lands on his shoulder, gentle but firm. “Breathe.” 

Miles does; he takes an overly deep breath in and lets it out slowly, trying to calm himself down. “Sorry,” he says shakily. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately.”

“I can tell.” Peter squeezes Miles’s shoulder and regards him with a serious, if a bit unreadable, look. “This really means that much to you?”

“ _Yes_.” Miles knows he should be embarrassed by the desperation in his voice, but Peter’s hand leaves his shoulder and wraps around the back of his neck instead, and suddenly that’s the only thing on his mind.

Peter sighs and his breath fans over Miles’s face, he’s that close now. “Okay.” His fingers flex against Miles’s skin. “Okay, yeah. Fine. Yes.” It’s like he can’t decide which answer to settle on.

“Really?” Miles asks, trying to keep his excitement buried beneath his ribs.

“Yeah, just.” Peter sighs again and lets go of Miles. “Come sit next to me. This angle is bad for my back.”

Miles wouldn’t say he scrambles to comply, but he’s anything but graceful as he shoots up and then topples onto the couch next to Peter in a flail of awkward teenage limbs. Peter laughs as he settles, and the sound warms Miles to his core.

For a moment, they just look at each other. Peter looks like he’s deep in thought, but Miles’s own brain is a staticky mess of _nervousexcitedpanicking_. He hopes it doesn’t show; he’s using every bit of his concentration not to fidget. 

“Alright,” Peter says finally. He reaches out for Miles and his fingers brush over his cheek. “You’re sure you—?” 

“Peter.”

What’s supposed to come out as annoyed hits somewhere closer to petulant and Miles internally cringes a little. Peter mumbles something unintelligible but playfully annoyed before he cups Miles’s cheek with one hand and brings their lips together.

It’s nothing fancy; there are no fireworks, or even sparks. It’s close-mouthed and hesitant, but Peter’s thumb strokes across Miles’s skin and it feels— _nice_. After a few long seconds, Peter pulls away, and Miles slowly opens his eyes.

When Miles doesn’t immediately say anything, Peter raises his eyebrows. “Well?”

Miles can’t help the laugh that comes tumbling out of his mouth. “I don’t exactly have a basis for comparison,” he says. “But it was good. I think.”

“That’s what a first kiss should be like,” Peter says. The tone in his voice almost makes Miles feel like he should be taking notes. “You don’t want to go in guns blazing on the first date. Walk her up to her door, give her one of those, and you’re golden.” 

Miles nods along, making a mental note of everything Peter says even as he tries to figure out how to word his next question. “But—?” He cuts himself off and hums as he thinks. “Okay, right, but _after_ the first date.”

“Patience,” Peter scolds, but the corners of his lips turn up. “I’m getting to that.” When Miles lifts his hands in mock-surrender and makes it overly clear that he’s paying attention, Peter continues. “The thing about kissing is that everyone’s a little different. They like and do different things. Your biggest concern is making sure that nothing you do is objectively bad and the rest will fall into place.”

“Bad?” Miles echoes. Peter nods. “What would be classified as… bad?”

“Oh the usual.” Peter waves his hand. “Biting her tongue off or shoving yours down the back of her throat. Those are pretty much the two things to avoid.”

It’s clearly a joke. Peter even laughs a little as he says it but, when Miles blinks, images of himself doing just those things plaster themselves across his eyelids— horror movie-like, complete with a grainy, black and white filter and everything. His chest tightens, and the sudden panic must show on his face because Peter stops laughing.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “It’s pretty easy to avoid the things you shouldn’t do when you know the things you should.”

Miles starts to remind Peter that he has no idea what he _should_ do either, but then Peter’s tugging him in for another kiss and Miles remembers that’s exactly why he’s here. 

This time, it’s different; Peter kisses him a little harder, presses a little closer. When Miles feels Peter’s tongue brush his bottom lip, he freezes up, unsure of what to do. He combs through his memories of movies and porn and that one couple at school who are always making out between classes. Miles has seen a thousand kisses— surely he can use that knowledge to his advantage, maybe impress Peter a little while he’s at it.

Except that, when Miles opens his mouth and brings his own tongue into the equation, all he gets is Peter pulling away with a choked-off laugh.

“Easy,” he says fondly, tracing the line of Miles’s jaw with his thumb. He’s still close enough that their noses are brushing. “Points for enthusiasm, but this is exactly what I meant before about going in guns blazing.” Miles pouts and Peter just shakes his head, eyes crinkling when he smiles.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Miles says. “I’m trying.” 

“I’m not making fun of you,” Peter replies, voice soft and serious. “I would never, just— come here.”

He tugs Miles closer until his only option is to fall into Peter’s lap. It takes him a moment to get situated, but he finally settles with his knees on either side of Peter’s hips. He raises his hands to— well, he doesn’t know _what_ to do with them. There are so many options: a broad chest and strong shoulders and a full head of soft-looking hair. Miles’s eyes flick between the three until Peter takes him by the hips and it jostles him just enough that he falls forward a little, his hands landing on Peter’s chest to steady himself. He looks at Peter’s face to find him looking right back, watching him with an unreadable expression.

Without waiting for instruction, Miles leans in again.

He tries to focus without letting himself tense up, and he thinks he’s doing a pretty good job. He lets Peter lead, following the way he moves, angling his head when Peter does. It’s easy, almost like a dance. It reminds him, distantly, of the time that Peter taught him how to swing with his webs, the two of them working together as they ran for their lives. This is less life-or-death, he thinks, though some part of him wants to disagree.

When Peter’s tongue glides along Miles’s lip this time, his mouth falls open of its own accord. Peter gives a little hum of approval and then he’s licking into Miles’s mouth. 

Miles can’t quite keep his surprised moan in his throat, but Peter swallows it easily, along with all the other little noises Miles starts to make. It hits Miles a bit belatedly that Peter is _good_ at this, but he knows that’s not the reason he’s enjoying himself so much.

Miles knows he could be picturing some faceless, pretty girl right now, or that guy in his class whose name is suddenly so difficult to recall— but he isn’t. No matter what he does, he can’t stop thinking about the fact that it’s _Peter_ kissing him, that it’s _Peter’s_ lap he’s in. This is exactly the sort of thing he’s spent the last two years fantasizing about, thinking he had no chance of it ever happening.

The thought makes him whimper and roll his hips forward, only to be hit with a sudden and mortifying realization: he’s hard.

He’s hard and probably has been for a while, knowing his hormones and heightened senses; he’s been so wrapped up in Peter that he hadn’t even noticed. And now here he is, cock pressed up against Peter’s stomach with a less-than-zero percent chance that Peter hasn’t noticed.

They pull apart and Miles, breathless, immediately begins to babble. “I’m so— fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—? I mean, I don’t—?”

“Hey,” Peter says gently. Miles bites his lip to keep from rambling on. “Breathe. It’s okay, Miles. It’s a natural response.”

He shifts his hips and Miles gasps when he feels that Peter is hard, too. It’s meant to be a reassurance, he thinks, but all it does is make heat pool in his stomach and send want thrumming under his skin in a way he’s never felt before. He wants… well, he doesn’t know exactly _what_ he wants but, whatever it is, he knows Peter can give it to him.

Peter must misunderstand whatever Miles’s face is doing because his eyebrows draw together and his expression softens. “We can stop,” he says. He laughs, though it’s a little strained, and shakes his head. “We should stop. We’ve pretty much, uhh, covered the basics, anyway.”

“I don’t—” Miles clears his throat when his words catch. “I don’t want to stop.”

“Miles.” 

“Peter.” There’s no mistaking what Miles is asking for, and he knows that. He knows the risk he’s taking here, the _leap of faith_ , is astronomical _._

There’s a moment, one that stretches out uncomfortably long, where Peter is silent and Miles thinks that he might just tell him to leave. Then, Peter reaches for him, takes his face into his hands and searches his eyes for what feels like an eternity.

“If we keep going, then… it’s not me teaching you anymore, okay?” Peter swallows and Miles mirrors the action, mouth suddenly dry. “I would feel bad— _worse_ about this if you thought that it was just… educational.” Peter’s voice is cautious, but there’s a finality to it, too. An ultimatum.

“I know,” Miles says. Peter still looks unsure, and Miles chews on the inside of his cheek. “Please don’t make me try to convince you. I have, like, no blood going to my brain right now.” It seems to startle a laugh from Peter, and he pulls Miles close, but he still doesn’t say anything. “Peter, please. I want this. I want this with _you_.” He nuzzles his nose against Peter’s cheek. “I trust you.”

It must be the right thing to say, because Peter turns his head and kisses Miles again. It’s still slow and sticky-sweet like honey, but with something hotter simmering just under the surface. Miles can feel it in the bite of Peter’s teeth against his bottom lip, in the way he carefully memorizes every inch of Miles’s mouth. They kiss until Miles is dizzy and so turned on he can barely think. Then Peter moves on to his neck.

Together, they discover pretty quickly that Miles’s neck is sensitive. Peter trails his lips across Miles’s cheek and nips at the hinge of his jaw and Miles shakes. By the time Peter bites down on the skin over his adam’s apple, Miles is keening, digging his fingers into Peter’s shoulders hard enough to leave bruises.

“Bed,” Peter says suddenly, voice muffled by Miles’s skin.

Miles pulls back, dazed, and blinks a few times. “What?” He asks, his brain sluggishly doing its best to catch up.

“Go get on the bed,” Peter clarifies with a laugh. “I’d carry you, but I think my back might give out.”

The joke snaps Miles back into reality, and he narrows his eyes as he shoves Peter’s shoulder playfully. “I’m not that heavy, and you’re not that old.”

Despite his words, Miles climbs out of Peter’s lap. He makes a beeline for Peter’s bed— it’s miraculously clean today, blankets still pulled back from when Peter got out of it this morning— and tugs at his hoodie while he goes until he can toss it to the floor. He can feel Peter’s eyes on him as he toes off his shoes and socks, but Miles stops there; he’s not sure how far this is going to go, or even how far he _wants_ it to go, but he doesn’t want to jump the gun.

When Miles turns around again, Peter is right there. His hands find Miles’s hips and squeeze gently. “If you need to stop,” he says, “if you _want_ to stop— if I do _anything_ you don’t like, you tell me.”

“Okay,” Miles agrees easily. “I don’t think I want you to—?” He clears his throat, too flustered to even get the words out. Peter stares at him, clearly amused, but patient all the same. Miles swallows.

 _I’m not ready for you to fuck me._ He thinks it as loud as he can, and kind of wishes that telepathy came as part of the whole spider-package. He can hear it so clearly in his mind, but he still can’t speak. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Peter nods encouragingly, and Miles forces himself to just spit it out. “I’m not ready for you to fuck me,” he says. Pride blooms in his chest when his words come out steady, and he clarifies, “At least, not right now.”

“Good, because I’m not going to.” The tone in Peter’s voice leaves no room for argument, but Miles is surprised to find he doesn’t feel scolded. “But, if you trust me, I’ve got a couple of things in mind.”

Judging by the expression on his face, Peter is still torn. It’s understandable, given the circumstances, but Miles doesn’t care about any of that. All he cares about is that, despite the detour into this conversation, he’s still hard and so is Peter, and they’ve inched their way back towards Peter’s bed so that the mattress is bumping up against the backs of Miles’s knees.

“Peter,” Miles starts with as much confidence as he can muster through the haze of nerves and arousal, “I trust you with my life. I trust you with this, too.”

Peter shakes his head and the smile on his face is almost sad. “You’ve got too much faith in me, kid.”

Miles goes to argue on instinct, but Peter pulls him into a searing kiss and the words get lost between their mouths. When they break apart, Miles lets himself fall back onto the bed with a soft _oof_ and watches, chest heaving, as Peter climbs onto the mattress to join him. Peter reaches over him, out of his field of vision, and returns with a pillow in his grasp that he carefully slips behind Miles’s head. It’s a simple and tender gesture and Miles flings out a hand to grab onto Peter’s shirt and pull him closer.

Their new position quickly becomes impossible to bear; the warmth and weight and scent of Peter envelopes Miles and Miles feels like he could _drown_ in it all, in the best way. Miles’s shirt is rucked up past his chest, and Peter drops feather-light kisses to every inch of skin that he can reach. Miles sighs and winds a hand into Peter’s hair. It’s even softer than he thought it would be, and he tightens his grip when Peter’s fingers tease the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Can I touch you?” Peter asks, breath ghosting over Miles’s skin and raising goosebumps in its wake. Miles whimpers and nods but Peter simply _tsks_ in response. “You gotta say it. Need to hear you say it for me, baby.”

Peter calling him _baby_ only makes it that much harder for Miles to respond. His brain is swimming but he’s pretty sure it would be just as difficult even if his thoughts were crystal clear.

“Yes,” he gasps out, finally, tugs on Peter’s hair for emphasis. “Touch me, Peter, _please_.”

Between one breath and the next, Peter’s hand slips into his boxers and curls around Miles’s cock and Miles has to bite down on the knuckles of his free hand to keep from shouting. He’s imagined this, someone else’s hand on his dick instead of just his own, too many times to count, but nothing could have prepared him for the way pleasure licks its way up his spine from the smallest touch. Peter’s hand is bigger and hotter than his and his movements are so much more sure. He strokes Miles slowly, hand slick with precome; Miles leaks like crazy, and he’s always kind of wanted to ask Peter if that’s a spider-person thing, but now doesn’t really feel like the time.

“Good?” Peter asks, mouth suddenly right next to Miles’s ear. Miles turns to bury his face in the pillow, lets out a loud, pitiful whine and nods. He feels Peter’s smile against the shell of his ear as he tightens his grip on Miles’s cock, feels hot breath on the side of his face. “You’re beautiful,” Peter remarks, like he’s aching. 

Miles is hurtling towards orgasm faster than he’d care to admit, but he chalks it up to being a fumbling hormonal teenager in the presence of someone who’s clearly mastered the art of hand-on-dick action. He can’t quite keep his hips still, and he knows that the way they twitch and jerk is throwing off Peter’s rhythm, but he can’t bring himself to apologize, or even really care. It’s all too much, too _good_ , and Miles’s nails dig into Peter’s scalp so hard that he gets a hiss from the other man for his efforts. 

“Sorry,” Miles says, voice barely above a whisper as he forcibly loosens his hold on Peter’s hair. 

Peter chuckles. “It’s okay, Miles,” he promises, kissing Miles’s jaw. His rhythm never falters and it’s almost maddening how good he is at this, too. “You’re doing so good. You close?”

“Y-yeah.” Miles nods and pulls Peter in for a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and feels just as good as all the others. “I’m so close, Peter, please.” His voice comes out strained, like he’s on the verge of tears, and Peter shushes him gently.

Miles wonders if this was all Peter was thinking of when he said he had ‘a couple of things in mind,’ or if he’d planned for them to do more. He wonders if they still might, and it’s that thought— the thought of doing _more_ with _Peter_ — that does him in. 

Miles comes with a warbled cry of Peter’s name. It feels like it goes on for hours, and Peter strokes him through it until it’s too much and Miles pushes at his arm weakly. Peter pulls his hand away and wipes it on the sheets, laying sweet kisses over Miles’s neck all the while. He’s muttering little reassuring things, but Miles can barely hear him over the blood rushing in his ears and his own heavy breathing.

He’s just about to do something stupid like tell Peter he loves him, or maybe thank him for the best orgasm of his life, when a soft slick sound catches his attention. He blinks the stars from his vision and lifts his head to see Peter’s hand shoved into the front of his own jeans. 

“Peter,” Miles says, reaching out. His voice sounds wrecked. “Let me—?”

Peter cuts him off with a kiss, one that’s deep and lazy, and Miles can’t help but sink into it. “Just wanna kiss you,” Peter explains, feeding the words right into Miles’s mouth. “Won’t take long.”

Miles wants to protest; he wants to help, wants to make Peter _come_ , but exhaustion is settling into his bones and it’s all too easy to let Peter kiss him into the mattress instead. He kisses back with the little energy he’s got left. Almost experimentally, he bites down on Peter’s bottom lip and tugs. Peter keens, and his whole body goes taut as he comes.

“ _Miles_.” Peter buries his face in Miles’s shoulder and his hips move in little aborted thrusts. Miles hums in response, too tired to actually think of anything to say, and cards his fingers through Peter’s hair. “Miles,” Peter says again, breathless.

They come back to reality slowly, breathing each other in and sharing these long, languid kisses that have Miles’s dick perking up in interest. After a while, though, Peter simply rolls off of Miles and onto his back. Miles turns and curls into Peter’s side without a second thought, sighing contentedly when Peter’s arm wraps around his shoulders.

“We should get cleaned up. Shower or something,” Peter says. Miles snickers, thinking of the tiny excuse for a shower in Peter’s apartment; he has no idea how Peter fits into it on his own, let alone how the two of them would squeeze in.

“Later,” Miles is already struggling to keep his eyes open and, even though he knows he’s going to bitch about it later, the drying come on the inside of his boxers is the last thing on his mind.

Peter is quiet for a minute, but Miles can still hear the gears in his brain turning. “We should talk about this,” he says. “More, I mean.” Miles honestly can’t tell if Peter’s talking to him or just to the air around them.

“Later,” Miles says again around a yawn. He’d like to be fully awake when he convinces Peter they should do this again. Peter chuckles and Miles feels warm lips against his forehead.

“Later,” Peter agrees.

**Author's Note:**

> any hate will go straight to my spank bank.


End file.
